


We just now got the feeling (that we're meeting for the first time)

by verityshu



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Annoyed Sam Wilson, Avengers Family, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Denial, Domestic Avengers, Game of Thrones References, Light Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Violence, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Some Humor, Some Plot, Steve Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1804723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verityshu/pseuds/verityshu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky thinks he's happier not remembering anything. So Steve goes on a hare-brained hunt to find the machine that wiped his brain and recover his memories. Sam's bathroom could be a possible teleportation device for Natasha. </p><p>This sounds more crack than it really is. There is angst and feels, lightly inserted.</p><p>(Final chapter added! Complete and unabridged)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Bucky, we’ve been through this. You’re not ready and it could be dangerous. HYDRA could still be looking for you.”

“Sez you and when did you turn into my mother,” Bucky muttered. “That is, if I can remember having one.” 

Steve’s left eye betrayed an almost imperceptible twitch. He had developed this particular tic whenever Bucky would casually refer to his absent memories. Although not being able to recollect one’s mother seemed more upsetting for Steve than it was for Bucky at the moment. 

“Any luck yet?” Steve asked cautiously.

“Nope. I remember beating the shit outta you, dragging your sorry ass to the shore, tracking you down afterwards. You’re every assassin’s wet dream, I swear. You’re listed in the phonebook as Steven G. Rogers alias Captain America, you know that? And the Smithsonian needs a better picture of James for the exhibit.” Bucky ticked the key events of his brief new life off the fingers of one hand. “Wait, I think something’s coming back—”

“Brooklyn, Coney Island, Howling Commandos?” Steve leaned forward, eyes hopeful.

“Nope, nope, nope.” Bucky dragged his fork across the plate of pasta in front of him, frowning thoughtfully. “I remember looking down at you on the shore and thinking this guy I tried to kill and save on the same day was sad, just so sad, spitting water out of his mouth and nose. Here lies America’s favorite sweetheart.”

Steve let out a sigh. Despite years of brutal mind control by the Soviets and then HYDRA, Bucky could still manage to be a tenacious jerk when he was unhappy over something. Steve reckoned this trait was firmly engrained into Bucky’s very DNA, regardless of repeated mind-wipes and problematic selective memory loss. 

Actually, in truth, it was somewhat comforting, and encouraging, knowing Bucky could still annoy the hell out of him.

“Don’t play with your food.” 

“Don’t you try changing the subject.” 

“I have to go to DC. Sam believes there’s a lead on the device they used to remove your memories. Finding it and finding out how it works might give us a way to help you remember stuff.”

“So let me come with you. It’s my fucked up brain you’re aiming to fix, right? Don’t I get any say?” 

“No, you don’t get any say.” Because I am not losing you again, Steve thought. 

What he was thinking went unsaid and Bucky’s already displeased expression darkened at Steve’s outright refusal.

“Are you _pouting_ at me?”

“Nope. Don’t remember how to.” 

But he was and it was stupidly adorable and it was sounding off all kinds of do not inappropriately touch, ever, warning klaxons to Steve’s exceptionally sensible part of his brain.

Because other parts which weren’t so prudent really wanted to drag Bucky down to the floor then and there, cover him with his body and kiss the sulk off those sinfully plumb lips until Bucky would be writhing under him.

And it wouldn’t be right, not for Bucky, who had endured decades of unspeakable cruelty and mistreatment. Beginning a relationship that wasn’t the uncomplicated camaraderie and friendship they had once shared a lifetime ago would only make things worse.

No, worse was something else Bruce had privately explained to Steve, after he had gotten to know Bucky better. Despite protests that he really wasn’t that kind of a doctor, Bruce had canny insights into shattered psyches born out of extreme trauma, courtesy of his big and green alter-ego. 

‘ _He’s powerfully motivated to not remember since he’s, on some level, subconsciously equating regaining past memories with punishment and pain_ ,’ Bruce had said. ‘ _And there’s always guilt, whether deserved or not. _’__

In other words, in place of a machine burning fire into his brain to force him to forget, Bucky was doing it to himself now.

If that wasn’t cause enough for him to resist his impulses to kiss all of Bucky’s hurts away, Steve was also terrified. Deathly scared if one day Bucky remembered, he would recognize his feelings for Steve as a merely screwed up variation of a baby chick imprinting on the first hand who fed it. But we’ll still be best pals, hey, Stevie?

“Let me come with you. I can watch your back. Like you told me James did before,” Bucky was saying but Steve would die first before putting him back in HYDRA’s clutches.

“You’ll be safer here in the Tower. Bruce will look after you while I’m away. Hey, Thor’s coming to visit on Friday so you can finally meet your very first being from an interplanetary dimension. I hear Tony’s been talking to Thor about relocating Asgard to Oklahoma though, for better accessibility.” 

“Be still my beating heart,” Bucky snapped, visibly not mollified yet.

Standing to walk over to the other side of the table, Steve planted a kiss on the top of Bucky’s head. Despite his misgivings, and he had several, over his recently discovered alive best friend’s state of mind, he couldn’t help but experience a thrill each time it dawned anew on him, that he could openly do these things for Bucky now. Palm of a hand against a cheek, a brush of lips to the forehead. 

“I’ll be home soon, promise.”

In response, Bucky wordlessly snaked his arms around Steve’s waist and tucked his face tightly against his stomach. 

“Aw, Buck, c’mon, don’t be like this. I don’t want to go away either but it’s to help you…help you get better.” Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, still kept on the verge of longish, before gently disengaging himself from the embrace. 

The look Bucky gave him nearly made him lose his resolve. Furtively shifting his eyes around the room to make sure Tony wasn’t hiding somewhere, waiting to pounce out with phone in hand; he bent and chastely placed his lips on Bucky’s. They had never, before today, kissed each other on the mouth.

 _It’s just a peck, Nana used to kiss me like this too_ , Steve tried to convince that part of his common sense currently battering ear-piercing screams at him, _and men can show affection to one another now in this way without being labelled queer or peculiar_. 

Bucky blinked and the sweetest smile broke over his face. 

He grabbed the back of Steve’s head and pulled him down…Jesus, Mary and Joseph, where had Bucky learned to kiss like this – Steve’s brain had stopped screaming at least and was now gibbering incoherently instead- and was that his _tongue_ inside his _mouth?_

He braced his hands on Bucky’s shoulders to avoid almost blacking out from the breathtaking intensity of the kiss he was being subjected to. Tongues tangled in long, wet swipes while fingers lightly stroked the back of his neck and it was the _metal_ hand doing the stroking. Releasing a whimper, Steve decided it would be so very awkward to come in his pants at his age.

Then Bucky nipped at Steve’s lower lip and he could feel the other man’s grin, pressed hard against his mouth. He uttered another whimper again when Bucky proceeded to liberally salve his tongue over the same spot he had bitten.

Steve was breathing hard when they broke apart and oh, good, he hadn’t come in his pants.

“Don’t do anything dumb without me with you,” Bucky warned, sounding low and raspy. Steve placed a thumb over his best friend's swollen, spit-shiny lips and lightly stroked them.

There was a special kind of hell with eternally heated and sharp pitchforks reserved just for one Steven Grant Rogers, he had no doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking over if Bucky doesn't want to recall anything as a starting point for the story. But really, this fic is a badly disguised attempt to exorcise all the Stucky feels I got from the movie and to fix my broken heart from reading so many great fics here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky watches Game of Thrones with Bruce, because, and ponders. There is bad news at the end.

Bucky knew he had been HYDRA’s favorite murderer to thaw out when they needed killings but it was knowledge gleaned from debriefs/interrogation sessions by the re-formed SHIELD under the new Director Coulson. The rest he read for himself from information printed on pieces of paper filed in neat manila folders. 

Then there was Steve, who took him to whatever old haunts in Brooklyn that were still standing when he wasn’t off avenging the latest menace to homeland security and stopping the odd apocalypse or two. Steve patiently telling him stories of their shared childhood and being young men in Brooklyn to fighting together during the war. Steve showing Bucky his many sketches of James, charcoal and pencil lines documenting a man who exuded a cock-sure attitude with a hint of smirk around the mouth. After the first rescue from HYDRA’s clutches, the sketches had depicted a more somber and grimmer James.

(Bucky privately suspected Steve was a guy who was possibly more than just a little creepily obsessed with his best friend before the whole brainwashing thing happened.)

There were also new sketches of Bucky who lived with Steve now. Drawings of Bucky going about boring everyday stuff like reading a book, drinking a glass of water, sparring with Natasha or Clint sometimes when they were home, talking with Bruce, staring out of a window with chin resting on the palm of his metal hand. Bucky liked these sketches better.

He was James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky knew, but it was like being told someone else’s life, a stream of second-hand information constantly being fed to him. Stories of somebody who Steve used to know.

As for the Winter Soldier, he didn’t get it. If being the Winter Soldier had been as horrifying and unpleasant as carefully explained to him, why was everyone, including Steve, trying their hardest to make him remember?

It seemed to him, it would be easier to remain the world’s most forgetful former assassin rather than he _did_ remember one day and ended up slicing everyone’s throats when they’re asleep. 

And he wouldn’t even have the satisfaction of saying ‘told you so’ because they would all be dead.

“Bruce, what day is it?”

The doctor looked up from his tablet, complicated but strangely beautiful algorithms rising off its polished surface, to smile slightly. “It’s the third day since Steve left for DC.” 

“Thanks.”

They were sitting together in Tony’s huge entertainment room, having a spontaneous Game of Thrones marathon since Bruce said it wasn’t healthy for Bucky to brood in his room all day. Steve would have conniption fits if he knew – over Game of Thrones and not about the petulant moping – but for someone who was born in time to witness the birth of the internet, Bruce was even less versed in popular culture than Bucky. He had happily let Bucky picked what to watch.

He did glance up from whatever he was doing from time to time, especially when there were gory decapitations or full frontal nudity going on, with furrowed brows.

As scenes of Theon Greyjoy being psychologically and physically tortured and mutilated played out, he at length asked, “Are you sure you want to watch this?”

“Why?”

“It’s rather…unsettling.” Onscreen, the beleaguered Theon was about to have a vital part of his lower anatomy removed in spectacular fashion. Bruce winced in sympathy.

“I like Tyrion best, he’s smart. He’ll take the Iron Throne probably.”

“Tyrion would be—?”

“The dwarf. He’s the brother of the twins who are banging each other.”

“Oh, that one.”

“Bruce, I know the difference between the real world and tv-land.”

He did but as the days stretched longer without Steve in them, he could feel his grasp on this reality becoming tenuous. Steve had ever been the only one who grounded him, anchored him, since that day on the falling helicarrier, even when he was trying to pound the man to a bloody pulp. Steve who had managed to make him begin to comprehend, under years and layers of dehumanizing conditioning, that the Winter Soldier had been somebody once. Even though he wasn’t fully James Barnes, and he may never completely be that self-assured man so lovingly depicted in the sketchbook again, Bucky didn’t care as long as Steve was with him. He wished Steve could feel the same way.

“Thor’s arriving the day after. You’ll like him. Just don’t mind that he sounds as if he’s going to break into an aria every time he starts talking.” 

“Yeah. He’s loud, got it.” Bucky idly wondered if Thor, the most powerful of them and a demi-god of sorts to boot, knew how the rest of the Avengers seemed to affectionately regard him as a big, excited, blonde puppy. 

“Steve will be back soon,” Bruce said in his most reassuring voice.

Just then did Tony Stark chose to make his entrance, to stand before them and the screen, in the most dramatic way possible. 

“Houston, we have a problem,” he intoned, while behind and reflected on him, the Red Wedding splattered messily to its climax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was writing this and the GoT references just wriggled in, damn them. On to Chapter 3!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is a master thief and briefly contemplates naked showers with Steve.

_[Cap taken by HYDRA. Not a problem. Stay tuned.]_

Bucky silently crunched the phone into a little ball with his metal fingers as shiny parts dribbled to the floor.

“That was my phone,” Tony drawled. Bucky levelled his very best dead-eyed glare at the billionaire who shrugged. “Hey, don’t blame the messenger.”

“Hug me.”

“Wow, something must be wrong with my hearing. ‘Cause I thought I heard you say hug you.” Tony laughed just a little too loudly and shrilly. 

“Hug. NOW.” Bucky impatiently held his arms out towards Tony.

Glancing over at Bruce who was nodding encouragingly and making little ‘go on’ motions with his hand, Tony did as he was told.

“Sure thing, Buckster. Guess you must be needing some mano a mano comfort right now. Come over here you big lug.” Tony gingerly put his arms, in much the same way one would approach an active nuclear bomb, around a stiff Bucky. He tried patting the man’s back soothingly. It felt more like slaps against an unyielding brick wall. “There, there, Uncle Tony’s here. Er, we’re fine. We’re all fine here, how are yo... dude, are you groping my ass!?” 

Bucky withdrew and focused the full power of his ‘ _I am a broken bird and therefore cannot be held accountable for my actions_ ’ gaze at Tony. 

“Bruce! Did you see what he did? Oh my god, I feel totally violated. Buddy, I don’t know what high jinks you get up to with Captain Frigid in your little retirement love nest and no, I really don’t want to know. Maybe in your day, ass pinching was considered customary among guys but I have two words for you, personal boundaries. What's more, I am blissfully involved in a healthily monogamous relationship with one extremely lucky Virginia Potts who has sole claim to my tushie!”

Bucky flicked his open palm up at Tony’s face and started towards the elevator.

“Did he just tell me to speak to the _hand_?”

“Bucky, where are you going?” Bruce called out worriedly. 

“Gonna take a walk.”

“Okay, okay, don’t worry about Steve. Tony and I will take care of it. It’ll be sorted out in no time. Be careful out there.” Aside, Bruce hissed urgently to Tony. “Can you contact Natasha? Now?”

Safely inside the elevator, Bucky quickly rifled through Tony’s wallet, checking how many dollar bills were stashed inside. A few twenties and fifties, amounting to slightly more than five hundred. The credit cards he ignored because they would be of no use for him.

It was lesser than he expected for a billionaire philanthropist but enough for his purposes. He was going to need some money if he was going to DC. 

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, Mister Barnes.” 

“What’s the fastest way to DC without flying?” His metal arm would never make it through the security detectors at the airport.

“I would suggest going by train, Mister Barnes. If you hurry, you may still catch the one o’clock leaving Penn Station.”

“Thanks Jarvis. By the way, do you know where Steve keeps my guns and knives?”

As it turned out, Jarvis did know and they were under Steve’s bed in a briefcase that wasn't even locked. Bucky loved Steve, he really did, but he also had a nagging suspicion Steve was in possession of a bizarre and complex death wish, seeing how he had tried to off himself twice. In two separate centuries no less. 

Glaring at the neatly arranged array of guns and sundry deadly knives, Bucky sucked in a breath. Bruce had mentioned it was conceivable any of the Winter Soldier’s meager possessions (he kept his bionic arm when it didn't set off anything except Tony’s lust to take it apart) might act as triggers leading to a psychotic break. That was why Steve took the responsibility very seriously and stowed the weapons out of sight. 

Granted if Bucky had known Steve had kicked them underneath his bed, he would have suggested mounting them on the wall instead and saved him the trouble. 

Arms folded, he stood and waited for the avalanche of flashbacks relating to his sordid past as the Winter Soldier to come crashing upon his delicately healing mind. They would be very traumatizing, possibly even sending him into catatonia where he would stare blankly into space and require Steve’s unwavering dedication to help him brush his teeth and have therapeutic showers in the nude together. 

Steve had earnestly warned him about potential post-traumatic stress disorder when his memories returned. But Bucky would deal. He would try. For Steve.

On the upside, there might be a prodigious amount of post-recovery sex to be had with Steve. He could give a soft sob now and then to let Steve know how much emotional pain he was experiencing. Maybe drool a little. 

Or maybe not. Drool in any circumstances was never sexy.

“Mister Barnes, is something the matter?” Jarvis’s incorporeal voice floated through the air to inquire solicitously.

Except for a slight vertigo sensation, there was absolutely nothing. No rolling waves of debilitating depression or anguish raging through his mind, bringing him to his knees in despair. The proverbial light in a dark room had not been switched on, etcetera, etcetera. 

Truth be told, he was feeling a little relieved he wasn't a sniveling mess despite the prospect of alluring healing showers

Tucking a few guns and clips under the hoodie he wore and waistband of his jeans, along with a knife thoughtfully slid into his boot, Bucky decided any looming mental breakdowns would have to wait. He had a train to catch and Captain America’s stupid ass to save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I can write the type of angst that reduces people to a crying heap but I...can't =(


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is an annoyed but still good bro to Bucky who is one paranoid and sad puppy. Penises are mentioned. The light angst is trickling in.

When asked, much later, Sam would vehemently deny he screamed like a girl when the ex-Winter Soldier’s hand descended heavily on his shoulder. The frankly still creepy as shit ex-Winter Soldier who broke into Sam’s apartment, who was standing in Sam’s bathroom like some surly ninja in a leather jacket over a hoodie and jeans, as Sam was stripping off for a much needed shower. 

“ _Barnes_? What the holy fuck are you doing here? I know you’re still a few bricks short of a full load but this is my bathroom and I’m...good christ, I’m fucking NAKED here!” Sam slapped his arm over his chest while the other flew to cover his crotch. 

Bucky darted an instinctive peek downwards. “It’s fine, it’s too small to see anything,” he said.

“Oh man, that was just rude on so many levels and I can’t even— ” Sam’s eyes widened with righteous indignation. “Those long overdue talks with Steve regarding your lack of a brain to mouth filter? They’re on once he’s back and why are you still in my bathroom!”

“Where is Steve?” 

“For the love of Moses, let me get dressed first,” Sam growled. He started to rub a hand over his face and quickly slapped it back to his groin when he realized he was inadvertently exposing himself all over again. “Barnes, for the last time, get the hell out and leave me with some dignity.”

Bucky made a tsch sound with his tongue, clearly irritated, but he left the bathroom. “If Steve is having his fingernails torn out one by one somewhere, it’ll be _your_ doing,” he said through clenched teeth as he threw himself down on Sam’s ratty couch.

“Whatfuckingever.” Sam slammed the door with a loud thud.

Bucky had previously considered Sam to be a real stand-up kind of guy even if he was really more of Steve’s friend. Someone who would watch your back in a bad situation, pay your tabs when you’re running low, soar into the face of peril with those wings at your side, be the wise voice of reason when needed. As an added bonus, he would also be the steadfast side-kick with the witty comebacks during a fight. 

But Bucky wasn’t so sure of those attributes now, seeing how Sam had allowed Steve to get captured and was strangely blasé about this whole catastrophe. Not to mention, he clearly has a massive hang-up over small penises. 

A few minutes went by as a continued stream of soft curses and rustling of clothes could be heard through the door. Sam finally exited the bathroom as Bucky eyed him warily. 

“Barnes, look. You can’t barge into another man’s bathroom when he’s still inside and also very bare-ass naked, there’s man rules abou–” Sam began.

“I’m sorry about your dick and its size, okay? How did Steve get himself, no, how the fuck did HYDRA take down Captain America? You were supposed to have his back! He said you knew about the...thing they used on me and he was going to find it for me. I never asked him to do it, why doesn’t he ever listen to me, that punk, always looking to go down in a blaze of glory. He trusted you to have his back and you let him ge – is that Steve’s shield?” Bucky broke off and pointed at the distinctive round shape, gaudily painted in red, white and blue circles, propped at a corner of Sam’s living room.

“Uh, yes?”

“You’re HYDRA, aren’t you? You’ve always been one of them. You led Steve into a trap.” Bucky rolled smoothly to his feet and he was _fast_.

Before Sam could react, he was suddenly staring at the barrel of a gun. He stilled. “Woah, stand down, soldier.”

“Don’t call me that!” Bucky snarled. “I’ve killed a lot of people, SHIELD said so!” 

“Then don’t you call my penis small!” Much later, Sam would blame his retort on incipient hysteria and a gun wielded by the Winter Soldier inches from his face. “I’m regular sized!”

“It’s not my fault that it’s small and ugly. And I probably will end up having PTSD because you made me see your junk.” 

“My junk is standard issue and I’m not HYDRA, goddamnit! The sad-assed truth is Steve let himself get taken!”

“Not even Steve is that dumb!” 

“Oh really. We talking about the same guy here? Tall, blonde and chiseled like Mount Rushmore? Likes to wield an actual shield as his weapon of choice? His ability for cognitive reasoning takes a backseat when it comes to you.” Sam held his hands up in frustration. It was so painfully obvious to everyone and anyone that Steve would climb the moon if Bucky demanded it.

“Steve let himself get taken because of me?” Blood slowly drained from Bucky’s face and Sam took the chance to slap the gun away from his head. The arm holding the weapon wavered and dropped to Bucky’s side.

“Jesus, Barnes, not like you asked but yeah I forgive you for pointing a fucking gun to my fucking head and nearly making me wet myself. _Yes_ , Steve did it for you. I told him it was the mother of all fucking bad ideas.”

Sam continued. “This guy I know from the V.A, his wife’s a real conspiracy theories buff and when the Widow broke open the SHIELD can of worms online, it was like the Fourth of July and Christmas rolled into one for her apparently.”

“Is there a point to all this?”

“Hold on to your panties. She’s a nurse over at Georgetown and there’s a man recovering in the BICU who she says is a dead-ringer for one Brock Rumlow, even with the burns.” Sam stopped to throw a careful glance at Bucky. “Ring any bells?”

“Former SHIELD operative on Captain America’s strike team and HYDRA double-agent working with Alexander Pierce. I read the files.”

“Right. So we make a trip to Georgetown and verified it’s him. Can’t believe the guy’s still alive and breathing after I kicked his ass. He’s a tough bastard, I’ll give you that. So he says he can bring Steve to the place where you were, ah, kept. Along with the microwave they used to fry your brain. In exchange, Steve has to guarantee his safety from SHIELD and out of DC.”

“Rumlow would only take Steve. A bunch of henchmen showed up to whisk them away. They’ve been lying in wait, all this time, for Captain America to come knocking on their door. Steve’s supposed to contact me when he locates it. Told me to go home and wait.” Sam’s disgusted expression conveyed perfectly what he thought of Steve’s master plan.

“He wants James back that much?” Bucky whispered heavily. He was completely stunned that Steve, Steve of all people, would agree to Rumlow’s offer. Confusion and uncertainty was apparent in every line of his body. He hunched in a little, not knowing the Winter Soldier had adopted the very same pose countless times before, whenever he was strapped into the chair for a wipe. 

“Steve wants to give you back what HYDRA took is all,” Sam said, gently this time. He was finding it hard to remain mad at Barnes for the gun in face thing when said person was presently looking like a dog that had been kicked by its master. 

“What if I don’t want to remember any of it?” Head snapping up, Bucky replied bitterly. “Ever think of that?”

“I’m not the one you should be saying that to, right?” Sam lifted an eyebrow. 

Bucky sank down on the couch and stared at his clasped hands, flesh and metal fingers entwined. He replayed the kiss he had shared with Steve in his mind. Maybe Steve had responded with eagerness because he was imaging kissing the James he wanted instead of an inferior shadow.

“I saw the reports, the things the Winter Soldier did…that I did. The targets I murdered. Having James back means having him back too. Yeah, I know I’m a gutless coward,” he muttered miserably.

“You’re a paranoid nutcase with supreme ninja killing skills and the worst case of I don’t even know where to begin to describe mental issues. I’m not embarrassed to admit you terrify me. And you are anything but gutless, Barnes. It took a lot of courage to crawl back from the pit you were dropped into. You’re still crawling, I’ll admit, but baby steps.” Sam shook his head. “We’re all mad here, some way or another.”

Something flickered behind Bucky’s eyes. Then he smiled humorlessly. “Alice in Wonderland.”

“Jeez Louise, Gramps there is really catching up on pop culture references.”

“The book was a present from Steve for my birthday when I was twelve, maybe thirteen. Couldn’t make heads or tails of the story. Little girl falls through a hole and talks to sentient caterpillars. I still liked it because it cost Steve a dollar to get it for me. A dollar went a long way in those days and he dumped it on a book for me, because it was my birthday.”

Sam stared and wet his lips nervously. “Since how long ago?”

“Would you believe it if I said right when you were going _‘we’re all mad here’_ at me.” The smile turned razor sharp. “Triggers, huh.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Nah. It’s finally happening I supposed. Remembering. Don’t…don’t tell Steve yet?”

The two men regarded each other silently for a moment before Sam nodded. Bucky let out a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding in.

“Can I stay here until Steve calls?” he asked.

“Only if you stop trying to kill me. And call someone at the Tower for christ’s sakes. Let them know you’re here before they send out the light brigade. And admit my dick is glorious.” 

“No promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the time I reached this stage, I was close to giving up. Writing is hard and doesn't come easily to me at all. I'm more of a reader, than a writer. But Stucky feels prevailed.
> 
> On to Chapter 5! Brock Rumlow makes an appearance. I detest him, partly due to how many fics portray him as a slimeball rapist. Thankfully, he doesn't or had molested anyone or anything in the ensuing chapter, but he is necessary as my plot device.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow is the melted horror from the House of Wax. Steve really should have brought Bucky along.

Steve didn’t think he could hate a man more than he did Brock Rumlow. And it wasn’t only due to the irrefutable fact that Rumlow was a traitor who betrayed everything Steve believed in. 

What made him want to slam his fist against the side of Rumlow’s jaw was he had been willingly compliant in Bucky’s continued indoctrination under Alexander Pierce’s direction. Rumlow had done nothing to alleviate another’s suffering and that to Steve was one of the worst evils a person could commit. To stand by and do nothing.

As if discerning Steve’s thoughts, Rumlow smiled. Or he tried to since his face was a mass of healing scar tissue and his lips were almost burnt to non-existence. 

“No hard feelings and all, Captain. Just doing my job. I tried to take you in before, sure, but your friend with the wings avenged you on the helicarrier. Look at me now. I think we’re even.” Rumlow’s voice was a nightmare, clogged like jagged glass, each word he spoke seemingly being ripped out of damaged vocal cords.

“We’ll never be even,” Steve bit out. 

“I’ll admit I am surprised you would even consider letting me go. When you discovered about Fury’s little underhanded ways, I understand it shocked your boy scout ideals.”

“When I see the machine, you start running. You run as far away as you can,” Steve replied flatly. “If HYDRA ever comes after the Winter Soldier, deal’s off.”

Sitting in the back of an armored black van, both of them were flanked by several soldiers with guns trained on Steve. But he was confident he could take all of them down if it came to that. 

“Pierce underestimated the Asset’s attachment to you while your friendship with him has clouded your judgment.” Rumlow leaned in close and Steve tried not to flinch from this ruin of a man he had once fought alongside with on missions. “That’s why you’ve let yourself get blindsided.”

“I’m not bringing you to the machine, Captain, I’m bringing _you_ to HYDRA.” Rumlow croaked out and Steve immediately knew he had fucked up bad. 

He was half standing already, swinging a blow at the soldier next to him when Rumlow jabbed a syringe into his thigh. The others moved in a concerted wave to restrain him and he felt heavy metal bracelets being snapped around his wrists in a viselike grip. 

Steve struggled to break free but whatever Rumlow had injected into him was coursing through his bloodstream at an incredibly fast rate. His knees buckled and he slid, powerless, to the floor of the still moving van.

“Etorphine. A 10mg dose is enough to fell an elephant.” Rumlow held the empty syringe up. “You’ve just received a dosage of roughly 100mg. We’ve made extensive tests on the Asset and determined this was the best method and quantity to be used when he needed to be sedated in a hurry. Works like a charm.”

Rumlow delivered one, two, three hard kicks to Steve’s ribs with his boot. Pain exploded in a fiery instant along his side, causing him to choke back a gasp.

The words ‘Hail HYDRA’ was the last thing Steve heard before falling into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the brevity of this chapter but it's to work more as a bridge for the coming parts. Also probably the most serious with the minor violence tag coming in. While Rumlow is definitely a scumbag, I don't get a Bucky molester vibe from him. I see him as a very efficient merc who does his job without qualms. But I still want to kick his teeth in. And I bet Sam does too.
> 
> I plucked Etorphine out from Wiki because I needed a tranquilizer to take the Cap down. I have no idea if it will really work on super soldiers!
> 
> On to Chapter 6. With a guest reappearance of Sam's exciting bathroom!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is still a good bro. There are no easy fix-it solutions to Bucky's problems. But Natasha has awesome spy skills.

Steve did not call the next day or the day after.

It would be an exaggeration to say Bucky spent those two days, staring at Sam’s cell phone, but only very slightly.

“Shit, Steve, where are you?” Sam rubbed the top of his head in frustration. He had gone back to the hospital even though he knew it was no good. Valerie, the nurse who had first tipped Sam off, confirmed Captain America and the patient never returned. “I should never have let him go with that son of a bitch Rumlow.” 

“Can’t blame yourself. Steve’s always been stubborn as a goddamn mule. He used to get into all sorts of fights back in Brooklyn, even though he was scrawny as heck and bad lungs on top. I had to drag his ass away most of the time.” 

Sam was looking at him from the corner of his eyes and trying, and failing, not to be noticeable about it. Bucky could tell even without having to lift his head up from his contemplation of the silent phone.

“Don’t worry, Wilson. Ain’t gonna melt into a puddle, crying for my mama.” That was pure James Barnes, he realized, even before he finished speaking. 

It was not happening as Bruce had suggested it might, with a bang, torrents of flashbacks to his past pounding like nails into his head. It was more as if he was remembering how he used to feel, powerful emotions and sensations tied to specific moments of his past life. The exasperation and alarm James would feel when he spied Steve getting the crap kicked out of him again.

Love, mixed with plenty of pride, when James (when he) saw Steve would never back down from his persecutors even when covered with bruises, sporting split lips and bloody teeth.

The awful regret he felt when he was sure he would die, without seeing Steve again, in that dark and dank research laboratory. 

The indescribable terror during those eternal seconds when he was plummeting from the train. But there was sadness as well because he just knew Steve would be beating himself over what happened, and he wanted a chance to tell him it’s okay, but there were none left for either of them.

His confused distress and so much pain when they stripped him of his humanity in increments until the only way he could protect himself was to obey the missions whenever he was released from the freezing cold.

He was James Barnes, he was the Winter Soldier, and he was still Steve’s Bucky. He had been so afraid of the crushing responsibility, guilt, shame, resentment and everything else that would come with his returned memories, only to find out they've been with him all this while.

“How’re you handling it?” Sam was asking. “No screaming meltdowns? Wanting to hide in dark closets and mindlessly rock back and forth?”

“When we find Steve and after I squeeze the life outta him with my bionic arm for being an irresponsible prick, I’ll go find one of those dark closets you’re talking about and start rocking.” Since he wasn't a broken, crying or catatonic mess yet, Bucky supposed he was 'handling' it for the time being. He wasn't sure, it's not like he had any basis of comparison for what constituted as dealing with being forcibly brainwashed until one's brain was swiss cheese and turned into a warmongering murderer.

“And he would probably crawl in there with you. Or I can help push him in with you. Would be my pleasure,” Sam said.

Would Steve do that? His friend cared for him, he didn’t doubt this fact, but if all the affection was directed for somebody from a Brooklyn which didn't even exist anymore, then Steve would be heartbroken. It was clear to him now he would never completely be that somebody again, even with memories fully intact, even if Steve wanted it so badly.

Sam seemed to intuit something of what he was thinking and turned serious. “I’m way out of my depths here, Barnes. You’ve been through hell, I don’t deny it. But to any one of those men and women who walks in and sits down at the hall at the V.A, their personal hells are just as bad to them. You've suffered and so have others. So we take it one day at a time and some find ways to make a peace they can accept and some don’t and yes, I know I’m spouting bad cliches here.”

He added. “I will say this and it’s a true thing. Whatever you might think or be feeling, you know you don’t have to do it alone, okay?” 

“Okay,” replied Bucky. He was not entirely convinced, but it was nice of Sam to offer and help. He didn't have the heart to tell the other man he only needed Steve. “Sam?”

“That’s my name.”

“Sorry about what happened on the helicarrier. And for pointing a gun at you. It’s good I failed to kill you.” Steve had said Sam Wilson was a decent man and Bucky had to concur. Sam was genuinely kind despite any hang ups he had about his dick.

“Um, yeah, I’m glad you didn't waste me too. Since we’re on the subject, you wouldn't happen to remember where they stashed you when you were hunting Fury in DC? Figured a chance they would bring Steve to the same place.” 

“No.” Bucky resisted the urge to slam his fist against the table. “I’ve been trying but it’s…” 

Noticing his hesitation, Sam prompted, “go on.”

“Not the exact location, just…it doesn't make any sense at all, but I remember the Depression?” 

“Depression as in you are very unhappy, sad, down in the dumps, miserable?” 

“Depression as in the Great. Wall Street, stock market crash, poverty, unemployment, food lines.”

“You're right, that is weir—”

“This is where your deus ex machina steps in, boys.” A new voice interrupted and Sam’s jaw dropped when a lithe figure sauntered out from his bathroom.

“The hell!? That’s my bathroom and it only has one door! And we’ve been here the whole day!” he demanded.

“A first-class spy never reveals her little tricks.” Natasha smiled winningly as she cocked a shapely hip and flipped one perfectly coiffed auburn lock over her shoulder. Bucky could see Sam swallowing an audible gulp at the sight.

“Natasha, why are you here?” he asked. He was not surprised in the least by the red-haired woman's appearance since it was practically a common occurrence at the Avenger's Tower. Tony had once shared how Natasha had calmly walked out of the bathroom in his room, the same room where he and Pepper had spent the afternoon snuggling in post-coital bliss. 

When interrogated, Natasha had shrugged evasively. Because Tony's bathroom was the shortest route to her own suite when coming from the main kitchen and that was that.

“It’s not every day you get a call from two Avengers shouting over the phone at you, one repeating the Captain has been HYDRA-napped and the other, something about ass groping and his wallet’s been stolen by the groper. James.” 

Natasha reached out with her hands to hold the sides of his head. She kissed him softly on one cheek, then the other, in greeting.

“How are you doing?” Her question was neutrally phrased, injected with the right amount of concern shading the tone. Her eyes searched his face as she asked. Bucky knew Natasha did care in her way but she was still a SHIELD agent and a master manipulator. He understood she was really asking if the Winter Soldier was back and effective. He couldn't blame her, no one liked the Winter Soldier. _He_ didn't like the Winter Soldier. 

“I can’t find Steve. He didn't call in. He’s gone. He could be dead. I’m starting to remember stuff but I just can’t recall the most important—”

“He’s not dead and you were close.”

“The Great Depression was close?” Sam blurted skeptically.

“Wall Street, dummy.” Natasha said, throwing a pitying glance at him.

“I don’t get it either,” admitted Bucky.

“That’s fine, it’s not your fault you can’t actualize what you remember to the locations you've been as the Winter Soldier yet. It’ll take time.”

"Hey, Barnes don't get it and it's fine but I'm a dummy?"

Ignoring Sam's outburst, Natasha went on. “It took a while but once I heard it was Brock Rumlow, I tracked down, shall we say, an old acquaintance who has dealt with HYDRA as a freelance contractor. He had worked on one of the Winter Soldier’s past missions as a matter of fact. He was very forthcoming once I persuaded him it was in his best interests to do so.” 

Here, the Black Widow paused to smile demurely and Sam didn’t know if he should be petrified or seriously turned on. Likely both.

“And?” Bucky pressed on impatiently. 

“What do they have on Wall Street?”

“There are wolves there? Or Gordon Gekko? Greed is good?” Sam offered.

“They have _banks_.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “James, they were keeping you in a bank vault. And I know which one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost to the end, folks! On to Chapter 7 where the boys will be reunited at last. I hope there will be long, sweet kisses involved.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequence of recklessness results in BAMF!Bucky. A fair number of HYDRA members are killed. Things are somewhat resolved.

Steve was at once aware of several things when his eyes flickered open to bright, white lights shining down at him from the ceiling. 

His arms, legs and head were bound securely and the drug Rumlow injected into his body, while significantly weakened, was still not allowing him to break free. The bruising from Rumlow’s kicks had healed, meaning a day or two at the most had passed with him out cold. Unconscious and unable to contact Sam as he said he would. 

Sam would have alerted the rest of Avengers already over what happened, he was in no doubt. Whether Sam or anyone else could locate him in time was something he was in doubt of. He wasn't afraid to die but it would mean Bucky would be alone again. Bruce and the rest of the team would look out for him, he was sure. Just, their time together had been so short.

“Ah, you are awake at last. That is good.”

“Take these off me,” he gritted, struggling ineffectually. 

“I am afraid we simply can’t do that, Captain Rogers.” A middle-aged male face appeared at his line of sight, standing above and peering down at him.

The man presently examining Steve was bald, with a beard going grey while tiny crows’ feet creased around his eyes. Those eyes, behind thick glasses, especially made him very tense as they shone with the fanatical light which only the truly devoted HYDRA member of staff could emit.

“Where's Rumlow?” he asked instead.

“He has left, after delivering you to us. And you will do quite well, I think.” The unknown man turned and gave instructions to someone Steve could not see. “Prepare the initiation sequence.”

He was secured to a chair, this much he could discern. Whatever peripheral vision afforded to his limited state showed him display screens mounted next to him. Right above his head was an ominously half-crescent shaped scanner of sorts – the closest Steve could come to describing it was the device resembled a rollerball hair dryer which he had seen once when Tony decided to have his hair cut and styled inside the Tower instead of going to a proper barber like everyone else.

 _Focus, Rogers!_ Steve would have slapped himself if his hands were free. He had very evidently found what he was searching for and chances are, in a few moments, he would also be having an up-close and personal demonstration of its capabilities.

The bald man was still mumbling, “—realize it works so much better, with the memory wipe taking and lasting over a much longer period of time, when the Asset is conscious and aware during the entire procedure.” 

It dawned on Steve, that he was talking about _Bucky_.

“Of course the pain experienced would be magnified to an extent that a normal human subject would not be able to tolerate or, at least, not be able to function as required afterwards. Augmentations on a genetic level to the Asset allowed him a higher than eighty percent chance to successfully survive and still be operational…would you like to use this too when we begin, Captain Rogers?” The man gave a genial smile as he held something up to Steve’s eye-level.

It was a protective mouthguard and it was not new. He could see it was pitted and deeply scarred with numerous teeth impressions on it. 

“The Asset seemed to think it would help with the pain although it really was to prevent him from biting his own tongue off.” The man clucked his tongue and his hitherto pleasant demeanor turned faintly bemused. 

There was a low, splintering sound as Steve tore through the buckle restraint on his right wrist. 

He had managed to rip the one from his head and was wrapping one hand around the throat of the man who had been casually informing him, as if they were chatting over a cup of coffee, how they tortured his friend, when guards jabbed two separate tasers to his side and shoulder. He bit back a scream as searing volts of electricity rippled through his entire body.

“Stop! Stop! We need him conscious and alert!” The man he had tried his best to incapacitate spluttered, waving a hand for the guards to desist. 

He was shoved and re-strapped into the chair, this time with icy metal plates clamped to both sides of his head, partially obscuring his sight.

Steve closed his eyes and mentally braced himself with every ounce of willpower he could muster. Bucky had stubbornly held on to a memory of a man he had fought with on a bridge despite being made to forget all else. He had held on to Steve for over seventy years and Steve could do no less for him. He won’t forget, he won’t let them make him forget Bucky. 

_I’ll find you no matter what. I’ll come home to you_ , he thought fiercely, clenching his fists until fingernails cut into his palms and bled. 

Right then, a series of staccato gunshots, loud and jarring, echoed through the room, causing the bald man to look up with some irritation and crane his neck towards the commotion. 

The moment he did that, there was a 'pop' and a tiny black hole appeared, etched onto the left side of his forehead. A small stream of blood trickled out from the hole and he gaped, mouth opened like a fish, eyes bulging, for a total of three seconds before toppling over to the floor in a heap. Shouts and yells continued to sound thinly in the distance.

Instantly, Steve renewed his efforts to break free. He had one arm free again and was trying to grab the clamps off his face when a familiar voice said, “Hey man, it’s your lucky day, the cavalry’s here."

And Sam’s face appeared within his sight, grinning widely.

“Sam!” Profound relief coursed through Steve as the two of them worked quickly to set him free.

Rubbing his wrists to get the blood circulation going, he stood to finally got a proper look at the place he had been held. It was a windowless room with small, rectangular metal boxes stacked on top of the other from floor to ceiling on all sides. Alongside the nameless man, there were two other bodies, clad in civilian clothing and white lab coats, sprawled on the ground. 

“We're in a bank?” he asked as another hail of gunfire and the unmistakable sounds of fighting happening outside the vault interrupted him. Steve promptly snapped to alert attention. “Are the Avengers here?”

Without waiting for Sam’s reply, he was already striding towards the vault entrance, automatically reaching his back for his shield when he remembered he had given it to Sam for safekeeping. A quick glance at Sam showed it wasn't with him, outfitted as he was in his Falcon fighting gear but without the wings.

“Steve! Wait up, there’s something you should know.” 

“Don’t worry, Sam, I’m fine, the drug’s almost gone from my sy—Bucky!?” 

A hand came through the entrance of the vault to unceremoniously push Steve in as a high-speed projectile whizzed pass, millimeters from his cheek. Despite the close brush for likely reconstructive facial surgery, he had not notice the stray bullet's path at all; his undivided attention was riveted on the man in front of him.

“Stay back,” Bucky growled as he held Captain America’s shield up to cover them both. 

“What are you doing? Oh my god, you should be home!” Steve was close to flailing his arms in agitation.

His friend threw him a dirty look, comprised of relief, worry, irritation, and a lot of exasperation. “Extracting your miserable ass, what’s it look like?” Several bullets pinged off the shield. 

“Don’t look behind me!” Afraid Bucky would get horrendous flashbacks when the instrument of his decades of torture was located a short distance away, Steve tried to use his body to block his view. “It’s not safe. You’re not recovered yet, you shouldn't have come. Sam, take him out of here!” 

Sam mimed a helpful ‘who me?’ gesture in response.

“Shut up.” Bucky grabbed the front of Steve’s shirt and roughly cut his protests off by pulling him forward to cover his mouth with his lips.

All things considered, it was a very bad time for kissing, since HYDRA was trying to actively maim or kill them. But it was Bucky and to push him away was something Steve couldn't even consider. So he returned the kiss with all the intensity he could rally, holding the back of Bucky's head, deepening the contact until they were hungrily devouring each other's mouths.

“Hello there, some assistance would be nice,” Natasha called from outside, crouched behind a desk and pinned to the spot by a barrage of gunfire. She darted a swift peek around the edge and squeezed off a shot from her weapon. An agonized squeal erupted from a mercenary as his kneecap exploded. 

“Love to but super soldiers are making out and blocking the way,” Sam shouted. “Hold the fort!”

“I’ll try my best,” Natasha deadpanned as she shot another in the head with unerring accuracy.

Bucky did that little nip to Steve’s lower lip before letting go, causing him to murmur his name breathlessly as they parted. 

“Do you want me to be James Barnes?”

“What?” 

“Do you want James back?”

Steve was genuinely confused. He really didn't think there was a difference. Even when he discovered the Winter Soldier was Bucky, was James Buchanan Barnes, he knew his friend was alive and it was all that mattered to him.

“But you’ve been with me all along?” 

“So explain to me why you felt the need to hitch a ride with a known HYDRA double-agent and almost got your top attic cleaned out, if me remembering who I used to be isn’t so goddamn important for you?” There was anger in Bucky's tone, and also uncertainty.

Steve’s cheeks flamed redder. Oh god, this was what his selfishness and insecurities have done. Battlefield confessions were terrible under any circumstances but he felt he owed Bucky an explanation for what he had done. “I thought because you don’t remember, it’s too easy for me, you know, it feels like I’m taking advantage of you. It’s not fair for you, you not being in the right frame of mind to choose. You’re still…fragile.”

Bucky drew back, brows drawn together as he carefully considered what Steve said. Another bullet clanged against the shield. 

“I don’t need to remember being James to know I'm head over heels for the punk standing in front of me even if I wasn’t before. That.” He nodded to the chair looming behind them, inside the vault. “What the fuck do you mean I’m _fragile_?” 

Before Steve could explain he meant the term in the most non-offensive way possible, Bucky lowered the shield and spun round to kick an approaching soldier in the throat with his combat boot. Windpipe effectively crushed, the man staggered back, while two others rushed in on his left and right respectively. 

“Watch out!” Steve made a motion to grab him out of harm's way and face the enemies himself.

Bucky stepped just out of his reach and slammed the shield against the one coming in from the right, flinging him halfway across the room, while his free hand slipped into his boot and withdrew a knife. He threw the knife up before catching it by the handle in mid-air and driving the blade horizontally towards the second man’s heart, hard enough to drive through the armored vest, using his metal arm’s strength. 

“I need him to teach me that one day,” Sam muttered behind him and Steve flushed harder because he remembered the move well and it was so…hot, especially when he wasn't on the receiving end this time. There was perhaps something very, very wrong with him. 

Bucky tossed the shield back at Steve who caught it easily. 

“You’re taking me out to dinner when we’re done here. Somewhere fancy with a nice view. And we are going to have naked showers together while I try to find a peace I can live with.”

“Okay.” He wasn't entirely sure what was happening but it seemed best to agree. “So—” he cleared his throat. “You’re _in_ love with me?” There was a world of distinction between love and being in love, he knew.

“Yes, I’m in love with you.” Bucky looked as if he was going to pull Steve into another kiss or whack his head with his metal arm. “I might change my mind if you jump off a helicarrier again.” 

“Okay. I mean, I won’t. Jump. Okay then.” 

Sam was eyeing them. “Not that I’m not crying with joy for you two, I’m crying inside, I am. Can we go take down bad guys now?” 

“Right...oh, right!” He realized sounded inane, even to his own ears. He couldn't bring himself to care because he wasn't a newly minted brainwashed assassin for HYDRA, he had friends who would come to his aid when he needed it, Bucky was here with him and would be for every step of the way. He wasn’t alone and neither was Bucky.

Steve hefted his shield, heart in his eyes, as he smiled at his best friend. “Let’s do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is an epilogue really and I'm actually not too sure if I should even post it, as the story feels more or less complete at this point...so I'm just going to put it as 7/7 for now and change if I think the epilogue scene is worth it.
> 
> Thank you for reading up till here! I never thought I would write a Stucky fic of my own but too much feels, they overflow into written words.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue - SHIELD cockblocks. Suit porn is briefly indulged. Things are finally resolved with dinner, communication, unconditional love, feels and an impromptu makeout session.

It was easier said than done. Having that dinner with Bucky, as he had promised. Since SHIELD got in the way.

Soon after they had cleared the vault of the remaining soldiers and mercenaries, Maria Hill and various personnel swooped in to commandeer anything else that was left. Including the technology used on Bucky to create the Winter Soldier. 

Even with Phil Coulson technically taking charge, the on-going efforts to root out any lingering traces of HYDRA’s infiltration and Alexander Pierce’s treachery, Steve still did not fully trust SHIELD to not try and replicate the wipe process if they deemed fit. Fury, hiding in whatever hole for the moment, might be one of the good guys but he was also an underhanded, one-eyed bastard who would say the road to hell was paved with good intentions as long as he was the one doing the paving. 

Steve had been arguing with an unimpressed Hill to let Tony and Bruce examine the machine, to find out if it could, in any way, help Bucky recover some of his memories, when the person in question spoke up. 

“Don’t need it, I’m remembering,” said him quietly. 

Upon hindsight, it was perhaps not quite wise to make such an admission in the presence of Maria Hill since she immediately acquired a new wariness to her stance. SHIELD hadn’t exactly been on board with the Winter Soldier rooming with Captain America right at the Avenger’s Tower. Coulson had allowed it, on a probationary basis, although everyone knew the Captain would have spectacularly taken apart the new headquarters if denied access to his friend.

“How, when…are you feeling okay?” Steve was stunned at the revelation and then inwardly cursed himself for asking such an inane question. 

Bucky hunched in his shoulders and shrugged. “Few days ago. When you got yourself taken.” 

“Sergeant Barnes, may I suggest you accompany us back in light of this latest development,” Hill said formally and it was obviously not a suggestion or a request either. 

Steve briefly glared at her before turning to Bucky. “You don’t have to, you know that, right?” 

“Yeah, I know. But I’ll go with them.” 

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not. I don’t want you.” Steve flinched at the blunt refusal, his hurt apparent. Bucky noticed and his inscrutable facade broke to reflect frustration and guilt. “Didn’t mean it that way, stupid.” 

He reached and cupped the back of Steve’s neck, leaning in so close their foreheads were touching, and Hill decided it was a good time to wander away and inspect a very dead body on the ground. Meanwhile, Sam and Natasha were helping to oversee the clean-up; Sam throwing quick looks their way occasionally while Natasha was doing the same thing, except much more subtly. 

“I said I’m in love with ya and I mean that. But I need time to figure things out. I can’t do it when you’re around. You’re a…distraction,” Bucky admitted self-consciously, gazing at Steve’s face like they were in one of those romantic black and white talkies from their youth, but he was smiling a little. If somewhat sadly. 

So Steve let him go and it had been almost as bad as that time on the train, watching him fall, and helpless to stop it.

During the interim, they did things the old-fashioned way; they wrote letters. 

Steve’s letters would usually fill in on the things he was doing, visiting Sam and helping out at the V.A when he could, what perils or latest threat the Avengers faced together or separately, Tony deciding to test his latest suit by flying to the stratosphere and nearly asphyxiating himself in the process when the oxygen reserve ran out. Thor proposing to Dr Foster in Central Park, involving a huge bolt of lightning delivering the engagement ring and causing a whole fleet of FDNY trucks to rush onto the scene. She said yes. Sitting through an unforgettable Game of Thrones DVD marathon, which Bruce cajoled him into, with the team. Did Bucky know nudity was allowed on television now?

Bucky’s letters were mostly shorter and grumbling how headquarters reminded him of war bunkers, featureless and sterile, with grub which tasted just as abysmal. Walking through the hallways and agents staring at him like he was going to go batshit crazy any second and extract a bazooka outta his ass and blow them to tiny pieces. Attending mandatory counseling sessions until he was ready to throw a chair out the window and pray it would drop on Coulson’s head, or if he was really lucky, on Fury’s. Barton and Natasha dropping by when they were doing mysterious spy things for SHIELD. Natasha had a new assignment, to bring in Rumlow who had been reported skulking in Nebraska for reasons yet unknown. Romanov had smiled that smile of hers before departing and he could almost feel sorry for that pathetic sack of shit in Nebraska. Almost. And yes, he did know bare breasts and dicks can be shown now but only on cable. It’s the end of civilization, it is, and by the way, did Steve happen to know which century he was living in?

It was slightly over six months, when he received the last letter. It was delivered by a grinning Clint who dropped a folded piece of paper onto his lap one morning. 

Written in Bucky’s indecipherable scrawl, the letter, more of a note really, said, _‘Tomorrow night dinner. You pick. Make a reservation.’_

Steve perused the internet and chose something although he had no idea if the place was any good except it served Italian, had no prices indicated anywhere, and the view was to die for apparently. 

Tony hacked the restaurant’s booking system and insidiously inserted a reservation for a private table for two. Pepper decided to take charge of Steve’s sartorial choice for the evening, informing him there was no way she was going to let him turn up on his first date for this decade in a checked shirt and some camel colored jacket which zipped up in front. Clint told him he’ll handle Bucky’s outfit for the evening and also give him a ride from headquarters. Bruce patted him on the shoulder and simply said he was glad Bucky was coming home. 

It was ten minutes to seven thirty when Steve found himself wearing a dark grey suit with pin-stripes, and a tie with a rather art deco pattern on it, seated at an unexpectedly cozy but still fancy restaurant, at a secluded corner with a truly fantastic view as required. The suit was picked by Pepper and delivered to his room earlier in the day with a post-it declaring, _‘It’s Tom Ford, you’ll like.’_

(Underneath her message, in Tony’s handwriting, was _‘break the ole cherry tonight!’_ and a cartoon drawing of something truly obscene. It had made Steve sighed at how badly rendered it was but he supposed the billionaire inventor was trying to be encouraging in his own way.)

Despite his admittedly more casual dressing since the awakening from the ice, Steve was not adverse to a well-cut suit, contrary to popular belief. It was odd how everyone seemed to think he had the fashion sense of an Iowa farm boy, no offence to any Iowa farm boys, because he liked his comfortable cotton checked shirts as well. Most men wore suits as the norm back in his day. Bucky was always nicely turned out in one when he was old enough and had shoulders broad enough to fill out a suit jacket. 

With that thought, Steve realized his mouth was dry and he was as jittery as a june bug. Mentally telling himself to get a grip, he was gazing out of the floor to ceiling glass window, into New York’s night-time skyline, taking a sip when someone stealthily slid into the chair opposite him and kicked his leg underneath the table.

He spluttered and choked on his water while Bucky snickered. 

“Asshole,” Steve grumbled as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Admit it, you like me like this.”

“I admit nothing—” he began, stopped. And really looked.

“Something on my face?” Bucky tensed minutely, his hands starting to fidget with the various cutleries laid out on the table.

“You look…great,” was what Steve could manage. 

Bucky was also decked out in a suit, a tailored and much lighter grey jacket over a white shirt with darker khaki pants. He had eschewed wearing a tie, leaving the shirt casually opened at the neck, down to the second button, instead. His hair was shorter and styled up, parted to one side. His metal hand was openly displayed out from the sleeve. He made no efforts to hide it, placing it on the table before them. 

Maybe it was the lighter colors he was wearing but he looked so like and yet unlike the Bucky he remembered from before. And he was beautiful and everything Steve had ever wanted and would want.

Bucky noticeably relaxed after the compliment, an appreciative smile growing as he did his own assessment of Steve’s ensemble. 

“You clean up nice too,” he offered, almost shyly, and looking down at the suit he was wearing, added, “you got Barton to thank for this.”

“Mine’s Pepper.”

They looked at each other again before breaking out into shared laughter and it felt so good and right. 

“Want to order?” Steve asked.

“Sure, where’s the menu?”

“I don’t think they have one. You’re supposed to order through the waiter.”

“How would I know what I wanna have if I don’t know what it is yet?”

“They have Italian. I checked the online reviews…”

In the end, they decided to play it safe and ordered two steaks. When the food arrived, Steve had to acknowledge the aroma was heavenly and judging by the way Bucky’s nose twitched slightly when he was served, he agreed as well.

“This beats SHIELD any day, the grub there was as rotten as what we had during the war. Remember the time when we passed by that little French town, what’s its name, and the mayor was so happy so he wanted to feed us all something called tet de…”

“Tete de veau.” 

“Yeah, yeah. And Dernier giggling like a schoolgirl because Dum Dum thought it was some type of French pastry. He was all ready to chow down when the mayor came in carrying a plate and on it was this absolutely dead and revolting looking—”

“Calf’s head. With matching brains on the side.” 

Bucky went still and uneasiness cast a shadow over his features as he became conscious over what he had inadvertently revealed. It pained Steve, to see him reacting so and being aware he was at least part of the cause for the apprehension made it worse. 

“It doesn’t matter. Whether you remember or don't want to, it doesn't matter. I’m sorry if I made you think it did to me. It’s not important, it never was. And I get it, why you decided to go with Hill back then. I missed you so bad. I miss _you_.” Placing emphasis on the last word, he desperately hoped Bucky would understand he wasn’t chasing a ghost from the past. “Come home, please?”

“So if I told you right now I’m not coming back, would you still get it?” 

Dread clutched Steve’s heart; he screwed up was all he could think. He had been stupidly blind, deluding himself he was trying to help Bucky get better when he was just terrified to lose him and he had lost him after all.

Bucky, who probably still knew Steve better than anyone alive, abruptly reached a hand across and around to thwack the back of his head, hard. He blinked.

“Rogers, I swear, you're so thick sometimes. It’s not whatever you’re thinking. I already know you were petrified over the thought of ruining my virgin virtue because you had a fool notion I was some Fay Wray needing protection from your savage animal lust." Steve reddened in embarrassment. 

"Honestly, I don’t think I have much virginity intact if the memories of what I used to get up to on Saturday nights in Brooklyn are spot on. Get it through your skull I've always did know you were the one even when my head was one big black hole and now that it's a smaller big black hole, you're still the fellow I want to ravage me silly, alright?" This time, it was Bucky who blushed a little. “Your letters were the only things keeping me going some days, when I was at SHIELD. I miss you plenty, you sap.”

“Then tell me why you won't come home.”

Bucky used a fork to poke at his steak, sadly congealing in a pool of sauce, for a while before answering shortly, “Because of the Winter Soldier.”

“But you can’t blame yourself. You were as much a victim,” Steve insisted upon hearing.

“Tell that to the ones I’ve killed.” Bucky’s voice hardened. “Some deserved it though, I’m not crying for those. This Soviet bureaucrat, he was minor league, but he ticked off a much bigger fish so he was on the list when they thawed me out. I don’t remember his face but I remember I didn’t mind killing him because he was a rapist who liked them young. I cut his balls off and then his tongue since he was screaming too much. I watched him choke to death on his blood.”

Steve involuntarily made a small sound of distress, or was it of heartache. Bucky stopped, as if reconsidering revealing too much. He nodded his head, indicating for him to go on, because this was also a part of Bucky now.

“Cecile Schneider. She didn’t do anything except she was a reporter and a good one too. She was one of the first few to catch on about HYDRA’s penetration into SHIELD. Don’t ask me how she found out but she was going to expose the story so she became a mission. I shot her through the head. It was quick. She had two kids. They should be grown up by now. I want to let them know the real reason why their mother died,” he paused, “and I killed Howard Stark and his wife.”

“I know,” Steve said. “Tony, he knows too.”

“That’s right, it’s all in the files.” Bucky barked a short, hard laugh, devoid of any amusement.

“He understands you were forced to do it and he forgives you.”

“It’s not forgiveness I’m needing. I was so scared, you know. Everyone saying I'll be just like before when I remember so it was easier not to. Simpler to forget and start over. But there’s a lot more Cecile Schneiders in the Soldier's history and I’m not coming home yet because their families deserve to know the truth of why they died.” There was strong determination etched to the set of his jaw as he spoke.

Steve had seen that strength of resolve before, a lifetime ago. When Bucky had insisted on walking without assistance despite minutes after being rescued from a laboratory in Johann Schmidt's fortress. When he had pointblank refused to run out and save himself when the same fortress had been collapsing around them. When they were sitting at a dinky little bar and he had said he would follow the little guy from Brooklyn. Even through his indescribable suffering, this determination and courage would be enduring, and Steve would love him all the more for it.

There was only one thing he could say and he said it.

“When do we start?” 

“What? You’re Captain America! You can’t up and go like that! Not a chance in hell. I don’t even know how long it’ll take me or where. I think I had a mission in Singapore before. I have to check the files again. Plus the fact there’s almost certainly a shitload of pissed-off people on my back, thanks to the Motherland Assassin. It’s not your fight, you punk.” 

His friend was wrong. It would always be his fight as long as it was the two of them doing the fighting together. 

“The Avengers need you here. What if HYDRA grows a new head? What if Fury decides to crash another helicarrier? What if fucking _aliens_ invade New York again?” 

“What if I kiss you until you agree I'm going with you?”

“Are you fucking insane, we’re in public—” Bucky hissed as Steve stood and hauled him to his feet. 

“Okay.”

Walking quickly out of the place, ignoring the maître d’s shocked questions, the other restaurant patrons’ curious stares and outright _Oh my god, it’s Captain America! In a suit! _whispers, he dragged Bucky along to the elevator.__

When the doors closed, he punched the emergency button and the lift screeched and halted to a stop. 

Bucky stared, wide-eyed and nervous. “We didn’t pay,” he started to protest.

Steve crowded the other man with his body until they were flushed against the wall. He placed his palms flat up behind, trapping Bucky within the circle of his arms. Bending his head, he dragged his lips from underneath an ear down to the side of the neck, tasting warm skin as he did. That familiar clean, sweet musk, mixed with a hint of aftershave, the roughness of slight stubble, the tiny vibration against his tongue as a groan escaped the throat he was mouthing, all these sensations caused Steve to press himself harder against Bucky. 

He felt arms encircling and clutching his waist, and finally turned his head to possessively lay his mouth over Bucky’s. In turns, slow and languid, or deeply ravenous as if it had been years for them, they took their time kissing the other, suspended floors above. At one point, feeling awfully daring, Steve undid a few buttons of Bucky’s shirt and slipped his hand inside, lightly skimming over a nipple with broad, lazy strokes. 

“Steve…we can’t, not here.” Bucky caught hold of his wrist even as his body arched towards Steve's touch. 

He drew back, a little regretfully, to drink in the sight of a debauched looking Bucky, breathing hard, shirt half undone, hair mussed, an obvious hickey turning red at the hollow of his throat. Steve decided it was a good look for him and he really wanted to do more, and as often as he could manage it.

“So when are we leaving?” he repeated.

His friend dropped his head on his shoulder to bury his face against the crook of his neck. Bucky started to chuckle, small gasps against his skin, although they sounded a little like choked sobs too. Steve gathered him tighter into his embrace.

“You are fucking insane and I’m supposed to be the one with the broken brain.” 

His words came out muffled but it was still clear enough for Steve to know they would be leaving together. 

“You’re my mission now,” he replied tenderly. He didn’t care where they go, he’ll let Bucky decide. The rest of the team could handle things while he was away, and there were cell phones and Tony’s private jet, if he needed to return in a hurry. And he’ll ask Sam to help out in his absence and induct him into the Avengers with an understanding it'll be a permanent position eventually.

“The day after. We’ll go the day after. Want to say goodbye to Bruce, Sam and everyone else first and take care of a few things,” Bucky sighed, lifting his head. “I haven’t returned Stark his money.”

“Okay.” Steve kissed him once more, brief and sweetly. He felt…yes, it was happiness, as stupid as it may be. He was completely happy and contented at this moment. “We still have the rest of the evening...”

“I’m not going back up and getting arrested for freeloading.” 

“Remember what you told me, when we were at the vault?”

“Nope.”

“You said something about showers and being naked together.”

“Mmmmm.”

“You still want to?”

Bucky was laughing a little, eyes vivid with desire, lust, and something else suspiciously like indulgence with adoration, and he laced his fingers with Steve’s.

“I still want to.”

“Okay. Okay then.” 

Steve quickly hit the emergency button again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be an epilogue to tie up some loose ends which became a monster of a last chapter instead. I kinda didn't want to do another chapter since I thought the previous one could have ended the story but it niggled me a bit because Steve still didn't know Bucky was recovering his memories so this happened.
> 
> I declare this story to be well and truly completed! This is the end as I can manage it. Thank you for reading and a happy July 4th to all who celebrate this day!


End file.
